Shades of Milk and Honey (10 page)

Jane laughed. “Captain Livingston, I would say you are as much of a rogue now as you were then, but your methods have altered.”

“Wronged! Oh, the ignominy. The wretched—” His words were cut off by a sudden pained cry behind them.

Recognizing her sister’s voice, Jane’s heart leaped to her throat, lodging there with sudden fear. She hurried back from whence they had come, moving as quickly as she could over the twisting path, but was soon passed by Captain Livingston.

Beyond the copse, her mother called, “What is it?” and other members of the party cried their queries. Jane rounded a tree in time to see Captain Livingston and Mr. Dunkirk lift Melody off the ground between them. Their arms were clasped together, creating a makeshift sedan chair. Melody leaned, pale as death between them.

Her slipper lay on the ground.

Miss Dunkirk came up behind Jane and grasped her arm. “What has happened?”

Her brother replied, “Miss Melody has stumbled on a root. I fear she has twisted her ankle badly. Run along, Beth, and tell Mr. Ellsworth.”

Jane stayed by their side as they picked their way through the copse of trees. Even with care, Melody’s foot bumped against odd branches, eliciting moans from her lips. When they were out of the trees, Jane led them across the field to the back of the house, knowing that they could get Melody to comfort soonest by entering through the breakfast room and avoiding the shrubbery, whose twisting paths would be sure to pain her sister further.

They were halfway across the field when Mr. Ellsworth joined them, puffing from exertion. After a hurried conference, he preceded them to the house to help set things to rights for Melody.

Once inside, they carried her through the hall to the drawing room, and laid her upon a sofa. A whimper escaped as they set her down, and her eyelashes fluttered upon her cheeks.

Seeing her daughter’s state, Mrs. Ellsworth immediately sank into a chair, needing smelling salts and air in order to retain her senses. Jane urged her mother to take to her bed so she would not have two invalids to care for.

Mr. Dunkirk offered to ride for a doctor, but as there was little swelling, Mr. Ellsworth declined. The party disbanded, each member promising to call the next day to see how Melody fared.

Good to his word, the following day Captain Livingston called as early as decency would allow. He brought with him a bundle of peonies gathered from Lady FitzCameron’s garden by the very hand of the Viscountess, who sent her concerns and her fond wishes for Melody’s full recovery.

Melody lay propped on the sofa in the drawing room, her hair unbound and tumbling about her shoulders, with her ankle wrapped in bandages and propped on a pillow. Fortunately, there had been little swelling. Melody only stayed on the couch at the repeated insistence of their mother; otherwise she would have hobbled to the breakfast table with the rest of the family.
While she said there was no pain, she gasped at the slightest touch upon her injured extremity.

Jane had been reading to her from Cowper when Captain Livingston arrived with a bundle of posies. Jane set the book on the side table to greet him. While he was courtesy itself to Jane, it was clear that his attention lay solely with Melody.

“How is the invalid this morning?” he said, seating himself in a chair opposite them.

“I am quite well, thank you; only mortified to have caused so much trouble yesterday.” She colored becomingly and looked down at the flowers in her lap. “It was so kind of the Viscountess to think of me and to send you with such beautiful flowers. Jane, dear, may I trouble you to put these into water for me? I would hate to have them wilt.”

“Of course.” Jane took the flowers from Melody. She tried not to look at the bell which had been placed within Melody’s easy grasp so she could summon Nancy if she needed anything.

It was clear that Melody wanted a moment alone with Captain Livingston, and Jane was willing to grant her that. He was not as cultured a man as Mr. Dunkirk, but his youth and lively humor seemed more suited to Melody. Jane carried the flowers out of the room and found a vase, taking time to arrange them before returning to the drawing room. She made certain to generate adequate noise to announce her imminent arrival. Captain Livingston was seated in his chair still, but Melody’s cheeks were a trifle rosier than when Jane had left the room.

“Where shall I put them?”

Melody gestured to the small occasional table at the end of the sofa and said, “There, so that I may gaze at them without effort and think fondly on the kind nature which brought them to me.”

Jane set the flowers down and returned to her chair, taking up the volume of Cowper once more. They talked idly of the day before, hashing over the events and doubling their enjoyment by examining each happy moment in minute detail. A rap sounded at the door, and Nancy shewed Mr. Dunkirk into the room shortly after.

Upon seeing Captain Livingston, he said, “I see that we came on similar errands.” Thereupon he drew forth from his pocket the three slim volumes of
The Italian
by Mrs. Radcliffe. “My sister thought you might wish something to read while you recovered.”

Melody’s face blossomed in delight. “Radcliffe! I adore Mrs. Radcliffe’s work beyond all measure!”

“I am afraid, then, that I have not brought you anything new with which to amuse yourself.”

“But you have, for I do not have
The Italian
. I have only read
The Mysteries of Udolpho
, which I thought so compelling, so very interesting. Do you not think so, Captain Livingston?”

“You have the better of me. I have not read any of Mrs. Radcliffe’s works. There’s precious little time for reading aboard ship, especially when facing the Monster’s navy.” He straightened as he said this and looked the slightest bit
down his nose at Mr. Dunkirk, who raised an eyebrow as if he understood what Captain Livingston was suggesting and was not in the least perturbed by it.

“That is unfortunate. I find that reading greatly improves one’s mind.” He smiled, very civilly, and Jane was hard-pressed not to laugh as he turned back to Melody, effectively cutting Captain Livingston out of the conversation. “And how is your ankle, if I might inquire?”

“Much better, thank you. I am only lying here because Mama makes such a fuss when I try to stand.”

“That is understandable, having hurt the same ankle twice so close together. You must take care that it is fully mended this time,” Mr. Dunkirk said.

Melody’s eyes flashed to Jane with a silent plea, then back to Mr. Dunkirk. She assured him that she would take care, but Jane had seen that moment, and it was more than a simple entreaty. The look alone might have simply indicated that Melody did not want Jane to reveal that she had not sprained her ankle when she had chased Mr. Dunkirk, but the manner in which her face went pale and then red said more.

Jane recalled that Melody’s ankle had not swollen last night.

A horrible conviction seized her that the injury was a sham, that Melody had not injured herself last night at all. As these thoughts went through her head, she was thankful that neither gentleman was looking at her, for she felt unable to govern her countenance in the slightest. Melody saw her unguarded expression and paled further.

Jane longed for the gentlemen to leave so that she could confront Melody directly. It was not possible; it could not be possible that her sister had lied to secure the attentions of Mr. Dunkirk. How much of the injury had been a sham? Had Melody truly stumbled, or had even that been part of her
tableau vivant
to draw Mr. Dunkirk in? For surely he, and not Captain Livingston, was the target of her play, else she would have enacted it while with Captain Livingston.

The morning passed in a torment for Jane as she struggled to conceal her suspicions from the men, and Melody strove to detain them.

Jane could scarce believe the preening and strutting that they performed for the benefit of Melody.

If Mr. Dunkirk mentioned his hunter, then Captain Livingston had to tell of his, and of how high a fence the horse could leap, which then caused Mr. Dunkirk to relate an anecdote about a previous hunt.

They went on in weary circles, Jane pretending to listen, while Melody seemed positively enraptured by their efforts, though Jane knew she loathed hunting. It was clear that Melody did not want to be alone with her sister, and so she encouraged the men to stay as long as they would.

Once, when Captain Livingston remarked on how fine the day was, Melody remarked, “Ah. I wish I could go outside, but I shall hope that it is as fine tomorrow.”

Then, nothing would do but for each man to offer to help her outside. Placing her in a chair, they each took an arm of it and carried her out onto the lawn. Jane followed in
her role of chaperon, wishing that her mother or father would emerge so that she could retire and be done.

Though she knew that she should aid her sister in making a match, Jane could not stomach the games that Melody played. When at last Nancy came out to let Jane know that their tea was laid, the gentlemen carried Melody back inside and excused themselves. Mr. Dunkirk had promised Beth that he would be home to take her riding, and Captain Livingston had business to attend to for Lady FitzCameron.

As soon as the front door had shut and the men were safely away, Jane turned to Melody, having spent the afternoon deciding on the best course to take in questioning her sister. If she were wrong about Melody, the damage of her suspicion would not be borne, but she did not have an opportunity to exercise her plans, for as soon as she turned, she saw that Melody was sitting up with both feet upon the ground and tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Jane, forgive me.” Melody put her head on her hands and gave way to her feelings in a manner that shocked Jane. “I did not mean to—I do not know why I did it—but once done, I did not know how to undo it. It’s wretched, I know, but don’t tell.” She raised her head, eyes red with anguish. “Please do not tell.”

To give herself time to think, Jane crossed the room and sat opposite Melody. “Am I to understand that you did not hurt your ankle yesterday?”

“I hurt it exactly as much as I hurt it a fortnight ago.
Only my jealousy injured me.” Melody flung herself back on the sofa.

“Jealousy? What or who are you so jealous of that you would pretend to be injured?”

“Of you! How am I to compare with you and your great talents? I saw how everyone admired your
tableau vivant
and how they looked at me as if wondering what I could do, and the answer is nothing. I can do nothing that a man such as Mr. Dunkirk would esteem. And so when I stumbled and lost my shoe and Mr. Dunkirk—” Here she sighed and covered her face again. “He was by my side, so suddenly and so quickly helping me up. I wanted it to last longer, so I pretended that I needed more aid than I did, and then when Captain Livingston came to my aid as well . . . ! It was wrong. I know it was wrong. But you must understand that I could not then admit that I had not hurt myself.”

Jane shook her head, bewildered by her sister’s jealousy toward her. Her! Who had not the slightest hope of marrying, were it not for the sum that Mr. Ellsworth had put away for her dowry. But more than the bewilderment, she was dismayed by what her sister had confessed. “You could certainly have explained that the injury was not so great as it first appeared; that shock had given it more weight than it merited. Oh, Melody, what were you thinking?”

“I was not thinking! I was feeling! And is it so terrible a thing? I have hurt no one save myself, and he came today, did he not?” She twisted her hands together in supplication. “Please. You cannot tell anyone. I should die if he knew.”

It was not clear whether “he” were Mr. Dunkirk or Captain Livingston, but Jane felt that it hardly mattered. She could not censure Melody strongly enough. To be entreated to keep this a secret between them, when all her common sense cried out to tell her father, was almost too great a burden. Though the greater part of her knew that it would do no good, Jane tried to impress upon her younger sister the seriousness of what she had done. “Yes, he came. In response to a lie. Melody, you must understand that lies are not confined to words; deeds, too, may be—”

“I do not need to be lectured by you, dear sister, to know what I have done.” Melody stood abruptly, without any sign of the injury she had claimed. “I confided in you, hoping that you would understand the very real torment in my breast, but you have thrown my confidence back in my face. I trusted you with my peace of mind and you have taken that from me. Now who will I turn to, if I cannot trust you?” Without waiting for a response, she strode across the drawing room. At the door, she paused and then limped cautiously out, giving lie to her protestations of torment as she made her slow way out of the drawing room, prolonging her falsehood in the sight of any who saw her.

Jane sat in silence, struggling to compose herself. If she had any hope of taming her sister’s notions of propriety, then she would have to find a way to mend this breach between them.